"How are you, Grandmother?" Janet spoke first, and she laid her hand timidly on the withered one that lay on the white counterpane.
"Hello, Grandmother; it's awfully nice to see you again. How are you?" Phyllis, undaunted as always, leaned and kissed the withered cheek.
Mrs. Page laughed, a hard cackling laugh.
"You're as alike as two peas," she said, "but there's a mighty difference. Janet, you haven't changed much," she added.
"Oh, but I have," Janet insisted, forgetting her self-consciousness for the moment.
"Well, you don't show it," her grandmother snapped, and before Janet could stop she heard herself saying, "Yes, Grandmother," in the patient, respectful voice she had always used.
"How do you like us dressed alike?" Phyllis inquired cheerfully.
"Your hair's mussy," Mrs. Page replied shortly. "Why don't you braid it?"
"Oh, but it's so much more becoming this way," laughed Phyllis.
"Fiddlesticks!" The word seemed to terminate the interview, for after it was uttered Mrs. Page turned over, her face to the wall.